


It's a neverending journey of pain, this life

by waferkya



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode Related, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waferkya/pseuds/waferkya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to the episode 3x16 "1912". Alaric is angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a neverending journey of pain, this life

Alaric is, well, pissed off, to say the least. He's also exhausted, bordering to worn out, and flat-out sad, and he can't even get drunk because apparently, every time he blacks out he goes on some killing spree thanks to his pretty ring of badassery.

He is currently sulking at the Grill, sipping an orange juice — the genuine stuff, it's not even sparkly, — trying to will it into turning to whiskey, and he's in the worst mood ever. Also, Elena is not-so-subtly keeping an eye on him, half hidden behind Matt's broad shoulders down there at the pool, which is heart-warming, to some extent, but mostly humiliating.

Basically, Alaric is a mess, way more than what he's used to, and he has no idea how to handle it this time. Which is why he hasn't called Damon yet, and he even asked Elena to do the same (and thank God they're not attached at the hip anymore).

It's a scary big fucking problem, and he doesn't want to think about it. He hates his life six days out of seven, alright, but he also kinda likes it; mostly because it's the only one he's got, and now this — he doesn't even know how to call it, — this thing comes and screws whatever decency was left around him.

And he can't even drink, because he's scared shitless of what he could do.

And also, Damon just walked in. Jesus Christ, universe, you really can't cut poor ol' Ric some slack once in a while, can you?

"Hey, Ric, good to see you on the loose again," Damon says, patting his back, in all his cheerful and blue-eyed handsomeness. Yeah, right, he's been patching up his relationship with Stefan. That's great news, really.

Alaric nods, hunches lower onto his glass, and of course Damon takes a sit right next to him.

"How's Stefan?" Alaric asks, praying that it will be enough to drive the conversation away from the obvious I'm-this-close-to-cutting-my-veins-open-in-a-hot-bath kind of look he has on his face.

Damon doesn't buy it, not even in the slightest. Dammit.

"What's goin' on with you?" he says, squinting and leaning into his space. Alaric tries to over his glass of juice but it's too late for that. "…what's that thing you're drinking? Ric, it smells like… fruit? Is it something healthy?"

Alaric can't stop a little, breathless chuckle at that, which only makes Damon squint harder at him.

"Ric. Are you alright?"

He doesn't even need to think about it.

"No," he tells Damon, honestly, turning his head to look back at him. The beautiful motherfucker clenches his jaw, waiting, but doesn't push it. Alaric should probably reward his effort at being tactful and discreet by spilling the truth anyway, but Damon would probably tell him something funny and adorable, like it's kind of awesome how this shithole city still manages to surprise him (that's exactly what Damon will say, by the way), and he really doesn't need to hear that right now.

He sighs, slow and deliberate.

"Tell me about Stefan," he says.

And Damon does.


End file.
